Near-Death Experience

by Tom Swift

It was Squirrel Day today during the morning walk. On the way out, we saw albinos on two different blocks. Whiter than Mike Pence, these two were. On the way in, a pair of youngins were in no hurry crossing the street precisely when a Bronco — was it a Bronco? Do they still make Broncos? Even since O.J.? I know nothing about cars — came hauling their way and, I must say, there was not a sympathetic foot on the gas peddle. The trailer of the pair of squirrels suddenly stopped — stopped?! — and got really low. I yelled. O.J. ran the thing over. I felt like I could hear the driver sniffing as he roared by. But … Wait! Did the little critter somehow make it? I rubbed my eyes and — yes — there were two unscathed squirrels now posing on the far side of the road and zero pancaked squirrels in the middle of the road! How this could be, dear reader, I am still at a loss to explain. The only possible conclusions are these: the trailer squirrel either (a) scampered past the front tire at the last fraction of a second; (b) knew what he was doing and stayed safely between the tires as O.J. zoomed by; or (c) he limboed his way beneath the tire. I have to say, watching the scene unfold and reacting as I did, as though I had for certain just witnessed an act of first-degree squirrel-slaughter, I cannot rule out any of theses possibilities.